The Cavern
Rock & Words
THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGIN' (Bob Dylan, 1964)
Artist: Bob Dylan (B+)
Recording Dates: Aug – Oct 1963
Release Date: January 13, 1964, USA
Record Label: Columbia
Producer: Tom Wilson
Rating: 7.5
Era: Folk, Folk-Rock (1940 -???)
Subgenre: Folk
Best Song: The Times They Are A-Changin'
Tracklist: 1) The Times They Are A-Changin'; 2) Ballad Of Hollis Brown; 3) With God On Our Side; 4) One Too Many Mornings; 5) North Country Blues; 6) Only A Pawn In Their Game; 7) Boots Of Spanish Leather; 8) When The Ship Comes In; 9) The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll; 10) Restless Farewell.
If you found Freehweelin' monotonous, The Times They Are A-Changin' must be the epitome of repetitiveness. Truthfully, it's not that bad, but it's a polarizing album. There are people like Starostin and McFerrin who argue that listening to Dylan in his purest folk form—his most political and biting style, but with weak, recycled, and terribly long melodies—is like chloroform on vinyl, or at least that's what their reviews suggest. I mean, who wants to hear a guy with a nasal voice finding a good melody and a guitar arrangement that he repeats ad infinitum with occasional harmonica breaks? Well, in my opinion, that's what Dylan has always done, only I'd add a backing band that, if he was lucky, would more or less know what key to start with, and that would somewhat disguise this formula for all eternity, amen. So, complaining about a Dylan song because it lacks melody or has too many variations is like complaining about a Led Zeppelin song because it's about Gollum, or about squeezing lemons. In other words, we already know what to expect. We like Dylan despite his voice, his limited guitar skills, and the fact that, with a lot of luck, we might find two good melodies in his songs. On the other side, we have the fans (those who presumably booed him when he plugged in an electric guitar) who say this is his best album, the most political, poetic, and without the anger that permeated a couple of tracks on the previous album.
I like this Dylan; I listen to him for his lyrics, not his melodies. That's why it took me so long to develop a liking for him and start reviewing him. As a self-taught troubadour, I know how incredibly difficult it is to craft a good song with just a clean guitar, and I appreciate the laid-back feel of this album, its rustic charm, its unhurried approach to expressing oneself, and its complete disregard for style. He never really cared about style, but it seems to matter less here than ever, as the cover art suggests. Mr. Zimmerman was interested in the substance, the lyrics, what he had to say; everything else was merely a means to that end.
In that respect, there is a noticeable step backward compared to *Freehweelin’*. I don't know if it's true that he was swept away by the sudden fame and the pressure from his fellow Folksters, who seemed to be practically begging him to stop clowning around and focus on serious tracks like "A Hard Rain," "Blowing," or "Masters," which were groundbreaking on the previous album. The fact is that he took a kind of turn, becoming more serious and making his album more political, but uniform, leaving aside almost completely the personal themes and even the comical and lighter ones, which nevertheless gave great balance to Freewheelin’ and served to highlight the political themes.
This album, therefore, loses its freshness; it feels somewhat forced in its critical themes, which Bob wrote inspired by newspaper articles. Bob again used Tom Wilson for production. Although the sessions lasted three months, they were rather sporadic, interspersed with tours. In reality, there were only six sessions for the final album. In an afternoon, he could record twelve songs, but he discarded almost all the takes. Then he would come back with other songs, and so on, which generated a ton of outtakes that he would later use or that would be released on bootlegs or compilations.
The album, therefore, is much less varied and exaggerates the formula of finding a good vocal melody, a good guitar arrangement, and repeating them ad nauseam. The themes focus on politics, racism, poverty, injustice, and, well, that prophecy that times were about to change. Dylan would present almost the entire album on October 26, 1963, at Carnegie Hall. Less than a month later, Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, and many embraced the solemn, serious themes of this album as anthems. And three weeks after its release, four long-haired musicians stepped off a plane from Liverpool to begin a symbiotic relationship with Dylan. Clearly, times were about to change…
The album opens with “The Times They Are A-Changin’”, which all the critics who readily tear the album apart agree doesn't deserve their harsh criticism, and is even considered one of the best and most emblematic tracks in their entire discography. I agree with them, but I don't see much difference with, say, “When The Ship Comes In.” It's the same formula, but this one received wider airplay and appears on almost every compilation album, and even today you might hear it sporadically on the radio. Anyway, the title track has a well-deserved iconic status; it's one of the few songs on the album that possesses a majestic and timeless quality despite its simplicity, reaching the level of the best tracks on Freewheelin’. Dylan wrote it in a couple of sittings and would admit that he did so with the express purpose of creating a new anthem, with Irish and Scottish influences. Dylan had absorbed as much as possible during his time in London, and would draw heavily from the British Folk movement, consciously or not, on his acoustic albums. The song is basically a warm, mellow guitar riff, over which Bob lays down his nasal phrasing. Verses more or less follow the same structure, culminating in the title, like a chorus, after which he adds a harmonica flourish before starting the next verse. The thing is, it doesn't sound so repetitive because each verse lasts about 40 seconds. The five verses are practically identical in this structure, with hardly any variations in the vocal melody, and the song fades out almost abruptly before the 3:15 mark. What makes it iconic? Well, its lyrics. Beyond its prophetic undertones, which foreshadowed the Cultural Revolution of the 60s, it does so with great poetic flair. Some say it bears a certain resemblance, in its quasi-biblical and ornate language, to that which Peter Seeger had already used in "Turn, Turn, Turn!". The fact is that Dylan makes a timeless statement to those who refuse to move forward, to accept new generations. The song sounds somewhat dated, but the lyrics still resonate. The entire song is worthwhile, and I won't copy it all, but one verse is key:
“Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.”
Here, perhaps he was referring to that post-WWII generation that believed itself to be master of the universe and maintained an iron grip on its children, the one that, carefree, would soon begin sending its own children to Vietnam to toughen them up as they had done against the Nazis. Dylan may have foreseen the hippie generation that would rebel just a couple of years later, but it also applies to the failure of the hippie generation and the lack of acceptance of its offspring, the Yuppies, or the subsequent Generation X, and so on. In other words, it's not a portrait of a specific time, but of a generational problem that goes way back. "As the present now, will later be past." It's not so much a prophetic song, but rather about the generation gap. Although, definitely, given the era in which it was released, it would be a huge hit and certainly achieve the anthem status he sought, similar to the shock caused by "A Hard Rain." The song was covered by the Byrds, though not as successfully as "Mr. Tambourine Man," and Peter, Paul & Mary, Simon & Garfunkel, The Beach Boys, The Hollies, and many others also recorded their own versions, further cementing its status as an anthem and Bob Dylan's role as a generational voice.
Next up is "Ballad of Hollis Brown", which Bob had planned for Freewheelin', but it didn't make the cut and he re-recorded it for this album. While not a masterpiece, I don't understand the harsh criticism. The riff, alternating three tones on two strings, is incisive, savage, and sounds ancient and solemn, fitting the accusatory lyrics. It's also one of the most complex pieces Dylan ever played solo, even requiring him to change his guitar tuning, and without even using a harmonica. The lyrics are brutal, in an old-school blues style, repeating the first two lines of each verse and finishing with a powerful punch. A protest song that doesn't accuse anyone, yet simultaneously accuses everyone, regarding the tragedy of Hollis Brown. He was a farmer from South Dakota, living in extreme poverty with his wife and five children. Bob narrates the scenes that led the farmer to utter despair: “Your babies are crying louder now, It's pounding on your brain.” As a father, I can't help but be moved by these lines. He finally recounts how Hollis Brown, in absolute despair, takes a shotgun and kills his children, his wife, and then himself. While the newspaper article presumably portrayed the farmer as a madman, Dylan puts himself in his shoes and sees beyond the headline, delving into the causes, into his powerlessness, and ultimately seems to accuse not him, but the world, for leading him to that dead end. The final verses are devastating: “There's seven people dead On a South Dakota farm, Somewhere in the distance, There's seven new people born.” It doesn't matter; the cycle of poverty continues. In thousands of other homes, the same desperation exists. The main complaint from many is that it's too long, but how do you cut any of the verses? I mean, it's not a rock and roll song for the radio, so for me, the length is justified by its structure and message.
Then we have “With God On Our Side”, which is where the problems begin. Where does the influence end and become plagiarism? While in London, Dylan learned Dominic Behan’s “The Patriot Game,” whose melody is practically identical. He replaces the delicate arpeggios with a cruder guitar riff than usual, and his already strained, crystalline voice is replaced with his peculiar nasal tone. Not only that, but we have to endure over seven minutes of a melody that, while beautiful, is slow, soporific, and overwhelmingly repetitive. When we have these kinds of problems with Dylan, we can usually excuse it with the typical “But the lyrics are good!” Well, in this case, not even that. Dylan narrates American history forged through wars: with Native Americans, with the Spanish and Mexicans over Texas, the Civil War, the World Wars, the Cold War, and those yet to come, all justified by “God is on our side.” I know it's satire, an accusation, but somehow it's completely lost its way. It caricatures in a way that offers no nuance; everything is black and white, which is unusual for Bob. The verse about the Germans, in particular, seems unworthy of bearing his signature. And he sings it with a languor that clashes with the message. If you listen closely, it's not too different from Masters of War, but without the rage, without the intensity of that album, "With God On Our Side" becomes an unbearable 7-minute slog.
"One Too Many Mornings" is a lovely ballad. Well, it's a self-plagiarism of the album's title track, much slower, sung with more deliberation, and played with a beautiful arpeggio instead of the crude guitar riff. It's one of the two tracks on the album that aren't protest songs, but rather an introspective piece, portraying solitary images of a morning with beautiful metaphors. Bob electrified it in 1966, after The Association covered it in 1965. It's a short track, a welcome change from the usual solemnity and political harshness.
Next comes "North Country Blues", a song supposedly influenced by Woody Guthrie, but not plagiarized. The song is just two chords, a hypnotic melody, which Dylan sings with a mix of weariness and sadness, in the first person. Musically, it's very basic, lacking a harmonica, but the melody, though simple, is beautiful, and Bob makes subtle variations in intonation to tell the story. This person gathers the townspeople to recount how their village emptied out. They mention that their mother fell ill, and we assume she died, since their brother takes care of her. Years pass, until their brother doesn't return home, just like their father before him. In the fourth verse, we finally discover that the narrator is a woman, when she recounts leaving school to marry a miner. The money was meager, but enough to feed three children, until the workday was inexplicably cut short at midday. They lived in tension and fear on half pay until the mine's closure was announced because it was cheaper to mine in South America. They lived in poverty until one day she found her bed empty, with three mouths to feed. The shops closed and the town emptied. The woman remains in the town, hoping that one day her children will grow up and leave, for there is no future there. The story is cruel, offering a social critique of the realities of many towns that depend on a company, and when that company leaves, many people are left without resources. The song isn't very long, just over 4:30. Although it's slow, Dylan's poetry manages to penetrate to the bone and captivate you. Legend has it that it's based on the story of his hometown, Hibbing, Minnesota. Despite being very specific in its narrative, the song would become a symbol of protest music.
“Only a Pawn in Their Game” is the album's other weak point. It deals with the assassination of activist Medgar Evans and the racial hatred toward Black people that still prevailed in 1963. The title alludes to the fact that the assassin was merely a pawn in the interests of the elites, and it's one of the first songs to mention that segregation wasn't only against Black people but also against poor whites, whose ignorance made them pawns. The idea isn't bad, but this time the melody tries to be so complicated that it gets completely lost. Lyrically, Bob's good intentions are diluted not only in the phrasing but also in the almost forced rhymes of some passages, making it even more repetitive.
Fortunately, “Boots of Spanish Leather” arrives, a beautiful ballad, also devoid of political or social overtones, which refreshes the second side of the album. The song is built on a warm, fast arpeggio, loosely inspired by Martin McCarthy's version of "Scarborough Fair," which cushions the velvety melody. It's delightful, except that it's essentially a self-plagiarism of "Girl From The North Country." Be that as it may, it's one of Bob's most personal songs, and he sounds pained as he sings it. Again, the important thing is the epic love poem he creates. The song is structured as a dialogue between two lovers parting ways, because she's going across the ocean. They alternate verses until the end, when he, who stays behind, sings the last three. It basically narrates the announcement of her departure and the question: "Is there something I can send you from across the sea, from the place that I'll be landing?" He wants nothing but her return: "Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled, from across that lonesome ocean." The idea might seem corny and saccharine, but Dylan manages to create a nostalgic and deeply sad song. In the end, he receives a letter that implies she isn't coming back, and then he finally gives in and asks for the Spanish leather boots she lent him. The song ends with an overwhelming sense of farewell and nostalgia, with a high level of poetry. Legend has it that it's dedicated to Suze Rotolo, who was his girlfriend until mid-1963, when she became pregnant with Bob and had an abortion. The relationship couldn't survive this episode, ending in August, and Bob would later have a brief relationship with Joan Baez. Bob would give details of the breakup on his next album, making it the only song he regrets writing, but that's another story.
Next up is "When The Ship Comes In", a song with a cheerful, carefree rhythm, in which the words seem to flow into a pleasant and catchy melody. Joan Baez would say that Bob wrote it when he was refused a hotel room because of his disheveled appearance (at that time he wasn't very famous outside of folk circles), but she was well-known and insisted they give him a room. So he created a song full of poetic imagery and a touch of irony, in which people aren't judged. It also has influences from Bertolt Becht, particularly "Pirate Jenny," which inspired the title image. The song is lively and catchy, without losing its serious aura. But here it doesn't sound like a song forced by newspaper headlines, but rather a hopeful song directly inspired by an episode in Bob's life, and that freshness is palpable.
“The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll” is another newspaper clipping song. It tells the story of a hotel kitchen helper, 54-year-old Hattie Carroll, murdered seemingly without motive by a 24-year-old man named William Zanzinger. Despite being caught, the man was rich and influential, and the judge reprimanded him, giving him a mere six months in prison. The incident actually occurred in a Maryland hotel in February 1963. The problem is that this time the melody is barely there, and Bob seems to be talking more than singing during long passages. The guitar doesn't help with the monotony, and the occasional harmonica breaks are the only thing that provides any variety, but at almost six minutes long, it becomes too tedious, and this time even the lyrics take too many detours to rub our faces in the impunity that power and money afford.
The album closes with “Restless Farewell”, which borrows its melody from the traditional Irish song “The Parting Glass.” If the previous track was somewhat dense, this one is completely amorphous. The melody is practically nonexistent. The lyrics are a reproach to Newsweek, which had published a profile of the singer-songwriter accusing him of lying about his middle-class origins. Bob thus creates a kind of forced self-portrait that brings the album to a rather weak close. The lyrics aren't as bad as the other two tracks, especially because the ending does define Dylan quite well: “I'll make my stand, And remain as I am, And bid farewell and not give a damn…” but a bad day could also taint it.
In short, it's not Dylan's best album, nor the best place to start listening to him, definitely, but it's not as bad as some make it out to be. You need a certain mood to listen to it, and not to care too much about the melodies, or the lack thereof. This is a political album, after all, full of cynicism and reproaches, not only directed at the government but at society as a whole. It's also the first album with all the songs written by Dylan. *Cough* Well, credited to Bob Dylan… The lyrics are still (and will continue to be) what matters, and here he maintains a high level of lyricism, although it's true that for lovers of melody it will be extremely monotonous. I recommend listening to it while reading the lyrics, if possible, to see if it changes your impression of the album if it was very low. Or imagine The Band doing arrangements in the background… Ha!
By Corvan
Mar/3/2016
